


Monkey Wrench

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, Light Bondage, No Underage Sex, Past Child Abuse, Spanking, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vomiting, snoke is your dad and he's a dick, there isn't enough solo triplets content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You're just trying to make it through your senior year, but between your anxiety, your dickhead dad, and your new step-brothers, things aren't going to be easy.
Relationships: Ben Solo/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader, Matt the Radar Technician/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Monkey Wrench

The initial blow knocks you to the ground and steals the breath from your lungs. The one that follows brings with it sharp pain and a crunching sound. You're on the ground, on your side. It hurts so you roll onto your back. That hurts too but you're not sure you're up to moving again just yet, so you stay there. You hear shouting, the sharp chirps of a whistle. You can pick out Rey's voice. She's outright screaming at the girl who kicked you, telling her she's going to burn her house to the ground. Somewhere there's a bird singing. You close your eyes and throw one arm over them to shield them from the sun, cautiously placing the other hand on your left side and delicately pressing the tips of your fingers into your ribs. You feel your entire body jolt in pain, stars explode behind your eyelids, and you’re gasping for air. You let your hand rest there very gently, feeling a need to protect the injured area but not daring to press down again to continue assessing the damage. You lie there and try to focus on your breathing instead of the pain coursing through you. You try to take a deep breath and _Oh, fuck,_ that hurts too.

You're vaguely aware of someone yelling your name as they run to you, stopping to kneel in the grass at your side. They're leaning over you, blocking the sun with their body. You pull your arm away from your face and open your eyes.

"You okay, hon?" Coach D'Acy keeps her expression neutral but there's worry in her voice. One of the refs is there too, just over her shoulder.

You try to say “I’m fine,” but all you can manage is something that sounds like “Nnnrgh.” _Oh. Maybe I’m not fine._ You run your fingers through the grass, trying to distance yourself from the pain.

Coach has her hands on either side of your face, checking you over for injuries. You close your eyes again. Try to steady your breathing. Focus on the sounds around you. Anything but the stabbing pain in your side.

You hear hurried footsteps, more people approaching. Two of them. No, three. More sunlight blocked out as the newcomers kneel beside you.

"Open your eyes," Coach says gently. You're momentarily blinded by her penlight as she checks your pupils.

Through the spots in your vision you can kind of make out a face. Blond hair. Glasses. You think you might recognize him. You blink and pop your head up, and then you're seeing the same face two more times, but with slight differences. Shaggy brown hair. Long black hair. All with the same strong features and broad shoulders. _That can’t be right._ You blink a few more times. They’re still there.

"What the _fuck?_ " You close your eyes and put your head back down on the ground. "How hard did I hit my head?"

A deep voice comes from where you think the blond one is kneeling. "We're-"

"Shh," you say, eyes still closed, flapping your hand in his general direction. "I don't talk to hallucinations."

A snicker from the direction of the brunet.

Coach’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your rib cage. You resist. "Hey," she says in a soothing voice. "You have to let me check it out." Then, not to you and not so gently, "Do you mind?"

You hear shuffling and the shadows behind your eyelids shift again. The men who might not actually exist are getting up and walking away to give you some privacy. You can hear them talking to each other, but you can't make out what they're saying. The ref is gone too, probably to assist with preventing a fight from breaking out. You can still hear Rey hurling abuse at the members of the opposing team. You let Coach guide your hand away from your torso.

Coach has pushed your jersey up over your injured ribs and she gently probes your side. A strangled yelp escapes you before you can stop it. "Fuck!" You’re surprised to hear the strain in your voice.

"Sorry, kid."

You can feel your eyes beginning to water from the pain. You blink rapidly, then squeeze them shut, willing them to stop. You are not going to let anyone think you're crying. "Has Rey been ejected yet?" you ask.

"Not yet," Coach says with a sigh, then calls out, "Johnson! Get over here!"

She trots to your side and stands over you. "Holy shit, that bruise is already so nasty!"

"Language, Johnson."

"Is she okay?" Rey asks.

"I'm fine," you hiss, sounding anything but fine. You involuntarily make another pitiful noise. You bite down on the inside of your cheek. You're frustrated.

"I am going to _murder_ those bit-"

"Rey," you interrupt. You gesture toward where you think the possibly imaginary men are standing. "Do you see the large boys?"

She turns. "Yes," she says, "I see the large boys." She sounds amused.

"How many of them are there?"

She almost laughs, but doesn't out of respect for you because you're hurt. "Three."

"Three," you repeat with a nod and a hum. "Good." You pause, then, "Rey?"

"Yes?"

"Do they all have the same face?"

Rey openly laughs at you now. One of the three large boys is also laughing. Probably that smarmy brunet again. "Yes, you tit, they all have the same face."

"Oh, thank God," you say, relief evident in your voice. You open your eyes.

Rey is doubled over laughing. You wish you had something to throw at her. You don’t, so you spit a “Hey, fuck you!” in her direction instead.

"Coach!" Rey whines when Coach doesn't reprimand you.

"She gets a pass. She's injured."

"Are you done poking me?" you ask. "Can we get back to the game?"

"I'm done," Coach says, pulling your jersey back down over your abdomen. "But you are not finishing this match."

"What?!" Your eyes snap to hers and you see that she's serious. "I'm fine, just got the wind knocked out of me." You move to get up.

There's a weird noise like a wounded animal coming from somewhere and the stars are swimming in front of your eyes again. _Oh,_ it dawns on you, _that noise is coming from me._

Coach's hands are on your shoulders, gently pressing you back down to the ground. "Take it easy," she says. The grass is soft under your head. Rey’s right next to you now, holding one of your hands, gently stroking your forehead. You're trying and failing to catch your breath, unable to take in anything more than quick, shallow gasps. There are definitely tears streaming down your face now. You scrub at your cheeks with your palms, wiping your tears away.

You hear Coach calling for an ambulance. "C'mon," you wheeze. "Please don't do that."

"You know I have to," she says. You do know. Coach is a paramedic. She knows what she's doing. You still don't like it. "No sirens when you get here," she says into the phone.

"Thank you," you say with as much sincerity as you can muster while panting and writhing on the ground. You manage to look at Rey. “It was fucking Taylor Miller, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Mackenzie Moore got you down with the illegal tackle. Taylor claims she was already going for the ball when your ribs just so happened to get in her way.”

“She’s lying.”

“I know.”

“It’s because of what happened at the party.”

“I know. I’ll take care of it.”

“You will do no such thing.” Coach’s tone is sharp and she’s giving Rey a pointed look. After Coach looks away, Rey rolls her eyes.

Two of the guys are back at your side and leaning over you, the blond and the brunet. The one with the dark hair hangs back, talking to someone on the phone. He ends the call, then walks over to you. "Han says they'll meet us at the hospital," he says to the others.

You register what he's saying and something clicks, and you make the connection you were previously struggling to find through the haze of pain and confusion. "Ohh," you say out loud.

Coach looks at the guys, then back to you. "Do you know them?"

"Yeah," you say. "I think they're my brothers or whatever."

Coach looks concerned. She knows you're an only child. She's checking your pupils again, looking for signs of a concussion. Beside you, Rey also lets out an "Ohh" of realization, then explains. "They're going to be her step-brothers. Her mom is marrying their dad. She was supposed to be meeting them for the first time after the game today."

Coach lets out a relieved "Oh, good."

Very slowly, you push yourself up until you're sitting. You try your best to stay silent but little pained noises keep slipping out. You're pale, you're sweaty, you're panting. Your entire body shakes with effort. You're suddenly very aware of the spectators staring at you from the stands and you're desperate to be off the pitch. At the rate you're moving it's probably going to take you a solid half hour to stand up on your own.

You turn to face the triplets, matching faces to names based on the photos Mom showed you. Smarmy brunet, Ben. Dark and unsmiling, Kylo. Blond and bespectacled, Matt.

"Can you guys, uh, help me up?" you ask.

They move quickly, Matt crouching at your right side and Ben at your left.

"Are you sure you can stand?" Ben is asking quietly. "I can carry you."

"No," you snap, too quick and too harsh. You start again. "No. It's important to me to do this myself." You make an effort to sound more gentle when you say, "Thank you, though." You feel more than see as he and Matt exchange looks over your head.

"Are you ready?" Matt asks. After a couple more breaths, you nod. "Okay. One, two, three."

He and Ben have you under the arms and are hauling you up. You grit your teeth and manage not to cry out, biting back the sounds so they’re just little whimpers. Once you’re standing, you lean heavily on Ben, clutching his arm. He puts the other one behind your back. He's warm and solid and he smells like sandalwood, while you’re barely upright on shaky legs like a newborn foal and you probably smell like sweat and dirt. "You're doing great," he says softly as, yet again, you're trying to catch your breath. You look up and try to smile at him but you're sure it's more of a grimace. The pain is making you nauseous.

You give yourself a moment, then unlatch yourself from Ben, straighten up, and take a tentative step forward. Mind over matter. You can do this. You nod to your small entourage, then slowly make your way to the sideline flanked by the triplets, Rey, and your coach. There are some cheers from the stands but you stare straight ahead, not wanting the attention right now. You make your way toward the parking lot to wait for the ambulance.

Once you're off the pitch and out of sight, you stop, hang your head, bend forward, and brace your hands on your thighs. One of the guys reaches for you and you throw up one hand, giving an emphatic shake of your head.

"You better get back," you hear Rey saying. "She's gonna hurl."

You point at her and nod, still not looking up. Whoever was approaching you retreats.

Rey stands behind you and keeps the strands of hair that have fallen loose from your braid out of your face while you empty the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. When you're done, you're wheezing again and in even more pain than you were before you started. You can barely stand. Rey slips next to you, pulls your arm over her shoulders, places her arm behind your back, keeps you upright. Coach hands you a bottle of water. You swish, spit. Pull the bandanna from your head and use it to wipe your mouth.

The triplets are staring. You give another smile-turned-grimace. Thankfully, the ambulance is arriving. You’re embarrassed. You’re tired. You lie on the stretcher and answer one EMT's questions while he looks you over. Another EMT is talking to Coach. Rey plants a sloppy kiss on your forehead before scurrying back to the pitch and your teammates. The triplets are quietly talking among themselves.

You're loaded into the back of the ambulance. The EMT who examined you is there with you, hooking you up to things, fiddling with dials. Someone else steps inside. You turn your head. Kylo is settling in beside you, out of the way of the EMT.

"It's, um, it's okay," you say. His eyes meet yours. They’re a deep shade of brown. "I'm okay. You don't have to come with me." He doesn't immediately reply, so you look away and start to ramble. "I know it's weird. We literally just met each other and technically I guess we haven't even officially met yet and then I accused you of being a hallucination and then your brothers had to stick their hands in my sweaty armpits to pick me up and then I blew chunks in front of all of you and that probably wasn't a great first impression-"

"Hey," he says, cutting you off. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the EMT trying not to laugh. "It's okay. Yeah, it's weird, but it's okay. And, honestly, if Han found out we let them take you without one of us going with you, he'd kill all three of us."

You kind of laugh, but it hurts too bad and the noise ends up being a little bark.

Kylo is mostly silent during the ride to the hospital, focusing his attention on the monitor displaying your vital signs instead of watching you. You’re grateful, because you’re still a little embarrassed about the whole situation. He glances at you occasionally, as if making sure you don't need anything from him, but mostly keeps to himself.

A nasty bump in the road jostles you and you let out a sharp cry before you groan in pain, trying to curl in on yourself but unable to since you’re strapped down. The EMT is apologizing, gently patting your arm and murmuring soothing words. You feel something softly rubbing your knuckles and look down to find Kylo’s big, warm hand covering your own, giving you a gentle squeeze. His other hand reaches toward your face and he uses his thumb to brush a tear from under your eye. He gives you a small smile, then goes back to watching the monitor. He’s still holding your hand. You feel your cheeks turning pink.

“Thanks,” you whisper. He nods without looking at you. You can see a faint scar running down the right side of his face, trailing under the collar of his shirt.

He doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach the hospital and you’re being unloaded from the vehicle.

A while later, you’re in a room with a curtain drawn through the middle, separating you from the triplets. You’re trying to get undressed without exacerbating your injury, but you’re struggling. You hear familiar voices as your mom and Han arrive and are directed to your room.

You poke your head from behind the curtain and hold up the gown you were given. “Mom, can you help me with this?”

“Sure, baby.” She joins you on the other side of the curtain and helps you remove your jersey. You grimace and suck air through your teeth. You notice Mom isn’t moving. You look up and see her staring at your side. The uninjured one.

“Mom, wha-”

“Young lady, is that a tattoo?!”

You wince. _Shit._

“When did you do this? Where? _How?!_ I certainly didn’t sign for that!”

“Mom-”

“What else are you hiding?”

“Nothing!”

“More tattoos? Piercings?!”

“No!”

Her eyes narrow. You know what she’s planning. “Mom, don’t,” you say quietly. Pleading.

She pounces.

On the other side of the curtain, the Solo men see the silhouettes of flailing limbs, hear the rustle of fabric, the slap of skin on skin, heavy breathing, grunts, an occasional squawk.

“Stop moving!”

“Quit manhandling me! I am injured!”

“Hold still!”

“Mom! Stop trying to look at my nipples!”

The guys look at each other with varying degrees of concern and amusement.

“Should we help her?” Matt asks.

“No, Son,” Han says sagely. “The bond between mother and daughter is a sacred one.”

A few minutes later Mom pulls back the curtain so the room is no longer divided. You’re in bed with a blanket over your lap, clad in the flimsy blue and white hospital gown. Both of you are red-faced, lightly sweating, hair mussed, expressions stony. Mom takes a seat between Han and Ben.

An awkward silence settles over the room. You’re pointedly not looking at anyone else, fiddling with your phone but not really paying any attention to it.

A minute passes. Maybe two.

“So…” Ben begins. You slowly turn to face him. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “What’s the verdict on the nipple piercings?”

Chaos breaks out. Han reaches behind your mom to slap Ben upside the back of the head, bellowing “For Christ’s sake, Ben, she is seventeen years old!” at the same time Mom is shouting, “She’s your _s_ _ister!_ "

Meanwhile, Ben is howling with laughter, Matt is biting his fist to stifle his own laughter, and Kylo is looking at you with an expression that clearly says _"Well? Are they?"_

You sink further down in the hospital bed and pull the blanket up to your chin, trying to disappear. Your face is burning.

There’s a knock on the door and your nurse pokes his head in. Your family freezes, some of them with guilty looks on their faces. “Everything okay in here?”

“Can you get these idiots out of here?” you ask.

“Even her?” he questions, gesturing to your mom.

“Especially her.”

He nods. “You heard her, everyone out.” Your mom starts to protest and he stops her with a look. His voice is kind, but firm. “Everyone.”

They all stand and the guys file out into the hall. Mom stoops over you and kisses your forehead. “Sorry, baby.”

You sigh. “I know, Mom. Just let me rest for a minute.” She joins the men in the hallway.

Once they've all left the room, the nurse asks, "You good?"

"Yeah."

"Hit your call button if you need anything. I'm going to take your idiots to the waiting room."

You snort, not fully laughing because that will hurt. "Thanks."

"Sure thing. My family's a pain too." He smiles and leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

You sigh, placing your head in your hands. _Family._ Like it or not, it’s what you all are now.

The guys leave soon after, since all you're doing is sitting around waiting for tests and results. Mom stays with you, sitting by your bed and keeping you company while you drift in and out of sleep due to the pain medication running through your IV.

A couple hours later you're discharged with a diagnosis of two fractured ribs and a bottle of painkillers from the hospital pharmacy. You're transferred to a wheelchair then an orderly takes you to the exit and helps you get into your mom's crossover where she's pulled it up by the doors. You mumble a quick thanks before he shuts the door and goes back inside the hospital. Twisting your body hurts so Mom puts your seat belt on for you. You fall asleep almost immediately, not waking up until you're home and Mom is gently shaking your shoulder to rouse you. She helps you out of the car. You see Han's car and another vehicle you don't recognize in the driveway, a black BMW.

You smell Thai food and hear multiple deep voices talking over each other when you step inside. Even though you insist that you can walk on your own, your mom still holds on to you as you make your way to the kitchen. Once there you find all the Solos crammed into your little kitchen among a huge array of takeout boxes, bags, and containers.

"Hey, kiddo!" Han says with a grin, approaching you from across the room. "How you feelin'?"

"Never better," you grunt as you slowly, slowly lower yourself into a chair to take a breather.

Han gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and drops a kiss on the top of your head. You startle at first, eyes shooting wide open in surprise, but quickly relax and sink further into your chair. It's still weird to you, genuine paternal affection. A father figure who actually cares instead of one who only acts that way in public or when he wants you to do something for him. Your eyes slip shut again, which means you don't see the questioning look that the triplets exchange after witnessing your reaction to Han.

Han wraps your mom in a hug and kisses her cheek. "Hope you don't mind," he says, gesturing around the kitchen at all the food covering nearly every available inch of space on the table and counter. "We knew you'd be at the hospital for a while and we didn't want you to have to worry about making dinner when you got home."

"You're too sweet," your mom says, giving him a peck on the cheek in return. "Thank you. There's so much food here."

"You should see how much they can put away," Han says, gesturing to the three men in the kitchen who are currently arguing over Karipap.

You manage to convince your mom to let you go upstairs by yourself to get cleaned up in the bathroom. She hovers near the bottom of the stairs, ready to sprint to your aid if you need her. You move slowly, washing your face, pulling your hair from its braid and combing through it to let it hang loose, and changing into your softest leggings, big fluffy socks, and an oversized lacrosse team hoodie stolen from Finn. You check your phone, rolling your eyes at the messages in the group chat. Among other things, there is talk of the three rugged guys who "swooped in to rescue" you (along with some sneaky photos that were almost certainly taken by Kaydel or someone equally as thirsty), and how Taylor Miller's nose "somehow" got broken after you were taken from the game (definitely Rey's handiwork). You send a message letting your friends know that you're home, you're a little banged up but otherwise fine, and you're dead tired so you'll talk to them tomorrow.

After slowly making your way back downstairs and into the kitchen, your meds from the hospital are wearing off so your mom grabs the bottle of pills from her purse and gives you one along with a glass of water. It's just her and Han in there now, and your mom directs you to join the boys in the living room where she'll bring you some food. You try to tell her you're not hungry but she insists that you at least try to eat something so the medicine doesn't make you sick.

So that's how you find yourself on the overstuffed sofa between Matt and Kylo, spilling curry on your lap as you keep dozing off. Ben is settled into the recliner and your mom and Han are side by side on the loveseat, everyone making casual conversation around you. You're having difficultly following along; the meds make you kind of loopy and so sleepy. The TV is on, showing the news, or maybe a sitcom? Or a medical drama? You're not sure. After a particularly violent drooping of your head and subsequent snapping back upward, Matt reaches over you to gently pluck your bowl from your hands and Kylo dabs at the spot of sauce on your thigh with a napkin. You look up at him in surprise, then to Matt, then back to Kylo, seemingly having forgotten that there were people sitting beside you.

You bring your hand up to the side of Kylo's face and give him a fond pat, smiling serenely. He freezes, looking uncomfortable, but you don't register it. You catch a glimpse of Ben and your smile widens. His eyes shine with amusement. "My friends are right about you guys," you say, turning to Matt with a look of adoration. "I've got myself a very nice harem."

You place your hand over Kylo's and give him another little pat before promptly slumping over and falling asleep on his shoulder, not even the sound of Han's raucous laughter enough to keep you awake now.

Later, you're vaguely aware of your mom's voice as she says your name, gently shaking your shoulder again. You don't have the energy or the desire to open your eyes. You're resting against something incredibly comfortable that smells _amazing,_ clean and herbal (you think you can pick out lavender and maybe rosemary?). Your arms are wrapped around something solid and warm (what, you don't know) and you tighten them, burrowing your face further into whatever it is that it's currently buried in (soft fabric, cotton, a t-shirt?). There are voices around you as you drift back into sleep, and then you're being shifted (that thing you were holding on to was an arm, you realize - a well-muscled one), bundled up against someone as they put one arm around your back and the other under your knees. You're moving upward, being carefully lifted. You open your eyes and see that you're being carried by Kylo, resting your head against his shoulder as he maneuvers you with what seems like no effort whatsoever. You shift a little so you can wrap your arms around his neck. He looks down at you with a little smirk on his face.

"Hi," you say with a sigh.

"Hi," he says back, climbing the stairs now with you still cradled in his arms, pressed securely against his chest.

"Smell good," you mumble, pressing your face into his neck. _Is this wrong, somehow? Should I not be doing this?_ He just smells so good and you feel so safe and so warm. The only response you get is a small "Hm."

"We goin' somewhere?" you ask, voice small and eyes bleary. You're so tired.

" _You're_ going to bed," he says, voice tinged with amusement. You like the feeling of his chest rumbling against you when he talks.

"Oh, good." You smile and give a happy nod. "I like my bed."

"I'm glad," Kylo answers, chuckling a little bit.

He enters your room and very gently lies you on your bed. Your hand trails after him as he steps away and your mom takes his place next to you.

"Bye-bye," you weakly call after him as he disappears from your sight.

Maybe you hear a gentle rumble of "Good night," in response. Maybe you just imagined it.

Mom frets over you for a few minutes, fluffing your pillows, making sure you have a glass of water on the nightstand, putting your phone within arm's reach in case you need her but can't yell for her, arranging your hair around your head, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

"Gonna sleep now," you say with a yawn. "Love you, Momma."

She leans over and kisses your forehead. "Good night, baby. Love you, too."

You're asleep before she even leaves the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up or I will turn this car around!


End file.
